


my honey i know

by achilleees



Series: jack/parse tumblr prompts [14]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 03:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10376391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achilleees/pseuds/achilleees
Summary: After that, it happened more often than he would ever have wanted to admit. It was almost too easy; girls were always after Kent, but Kent spent too much of his time looking at Jack to notice.For example, Kent texted him from chemistry one day.Hey lara and aly wanted 2 know if we wanted 2 go thrifting w them after school 2day.No,was all Jack texted back.Kk,Kent replied, and they didn’t go thrifting with Lara and Aly after school that day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for the tumblr prompt: _vague prompt is vague but what about jack being really possessive about kent and kent being alternately annoyed and a bit pleased by it? thanks for your time and no worries if you don't want to write it!_
> 
> warnings: this isn't a healthy relationship. jack's behavior is like, wicked possessive and kent never officially consents (although he doesn't really mind, but that's not the point of this warning). we know our boy is a mess of issues, this is one of the ways i can imagine it manifesting, but that doesn't make it healthy, soo...

 

It started all the way back in juniors, although Jack couldn’t pinpoint the exact date. His earliest recollection was this one time at lunch the day after a game. Kent was copying Jack’s math homework because he hadn’t gotten around to his own the night before, and that Anne-Marie girl with the big hair was leaning across the picnic table, holding her books to her chest.

“It’s supposed to be really good, and tonight’s the last night it’s in theaters. I know you don’t have a game - come on, you know you want to.” She smiled winningly at him.

Kent bit his lip, considering it.

“You can’t copy my history essay,” Jack said without looking up, flipping the page in his book.

“Oh, shit,” Kent said. “Yeah, sorry, I have to - some other time, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” she said brightly, but she shot Jack a cold look as she stood.

Kent didn’t notice, already turned back to his math homework.

Jack smiled.

 

 

After that, it happened more often than he would ever have wanted to admit. It was almost too easy; girls were always after Kent, but Kent spent too much of his time looking at Jack to notice.

For example, Kent texted him from chemistry one day.  _ Hey lara and aly wanted 2 know if we wanted 2 go thrifting w them after school 2day. _

_ No  _ , was all Jack texted back.

_ Kk  _ , Kent replied, and they didn’t go thrifting with Lara and Aly after school that day. Just hung out playing one on one basketball at the park near Kent’s billet house.

No discussion. No conversation. Kent never asked him why or nudged him for any justification.

So maybe part of it was Kent’s fault, for handing Jack that power from the very beginning, heady and addictive and utterly impossible to resist. But Kent never told Jack no, and after a while, Jack stopped expecting it.

 

 

Kent didn’t cotton on until they were already hooking up, and the promise of regular orgasms was enough to prevent any real irritation. Funny how that worked.

He finally figured it out after a game when Diz’s sister beelined over to him when they came out of the locker room.

“Hi, Kent,” she said, smiling and tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear.

Diz’s sister was pretty and smart and built like an hourglass, and she had her own car and she was old enough to buy alcohol legally. Jack had never participated in any of the locker room talk about her, but he’d heard enough of it to anticipate the way Kent would light up at her attention, rocking back on his heels the way he did when he was flirting.

“Hey, Maya,” he said. “You enjoy the game?”

“Yeah, you guys look like you’re really starting to click,” she said. “Are you going out with the guys now? Will was talking about going out for tacos…”

“Uh,” Kent said. “I dunno yet. Are you going?”

“That kind of depends,” she said, and paused, giving him a moment to catch up.

Jack could see the moment when it clicked, and Kent’s smile widened, went crooked in that way that made Jack’s dick go instantly hard. Which is one reason among many he wrapped his hand around the back of Kent’s upper arm and squeezed, just once.

Once was enough. Kent shot him a quick look and then grimaced at Maya. “I think I might have to rain-check this one, sorry. Got a lot of… homework.”

“Right,” she said slowly, not bothering to point out that it was Friday night, correctly reading the rejection in his words. “Well, next time, maybe.”

“Yeah, def,” Kent said, and waited to round on Jack until she was gone. “Have you been cockblocking me this whole time? Uncool!”

“You finally caught that, huh?” Jack said, and grinned, tossing his gear back into the backseat of his car. “You coming or what?” He looked expectantly over the car at Kent.

Kent narrowed his eyes at him. “Dude, you owe me so many blowjobs,” he said, and climbed into the passenger seat.

“I can do that,” said Jack.

 

 

“You know, Brownie and I were just gonna play video games,” Kent said, throwing himself down next to Jack on the sofa in the basement of Jack’s billet house. He shot him an upside-down glare. “You didn’t have to tell him I had fucking food poisoning.”

Jack hummed noncommittally, stroking Kent’s hair.

“You suck,” Kent said, nuzzling into his hand.

 

 

“Holy shit,” Kent said, reaching over to turn Jack’s face towards his. He pulled off his own glove with his teeth to dab at Jack’s split lip with his bare thumb. “I mean, sick fight and all, but you know the hit was clean, right? I had my head down.”

Jack shrugged, pulling his face out of Kent’s grasp and turning back toward the ice.

“Dumbass,” Kent said, but Jack could hear the smile in his voice.

 

 

They’d spent enough time together that their silences were comfortable and light, usually broken by Kent’s indistinct humming and intermittent conversation.

This silence wasn’t that.

Jack lay on his stomach on Kent’s bed, texting and consciously not looking up at Kent, who puttered around packing and shooting him exasperated looks every once in awhile. Kent seemed determined to outwait Jack this time, which was pretty adorable given their respective levels of patience. It took him maybe twenty minutes to break.

“Dude,” Kent said, shoving wrinkled clothing into his duffel by the fistful, “I’m gone for a weekend. I’m betting you’ll manage without me.”

“That’s not -” Jack said, and rolled his eyes. “Thanks, I bet I will too.”

“I mean, granted, I am the sunshine of your life, but -” Kent broke off laughing when Jack threw a pillow at him. Kent could never stay mad at him, but Jack hadn’t quite forgiven him yet for not realizing what the problem was.

There were going to be a  _ lot  _ of girls at that wedding. It wasn’t like Jack’s paranoia was rational, but hell, like he’d ever pretended to be rational before.

“I’m going to head out,” Jack said, sitting up and pocketing his phone. “Text me this weekend, or don’t. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of things to occupy you.” It came out snide, which was intentional, and hurt, which definitely wasn’t.

“What’s your problem?” Kent said, laughing but firm. “Normally your particular brand of crazy is at least kind of endearing, but you’re not allowed to make me feel guilty for going to my cousin’s wedding.”

Jack pouted. So he did know, the jerk.

“You’re so lucky I put up with your shit,” Kent said, climbing into Jack’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck.

“You like my shit,” Jack muttered, which he hoped was true.

“Sometimes,” Kent granted. He nuzzled their noses together. “Except when you’re guilt-tripping me about  _ going to my cousin’s wedding  _ , Christ.” He tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of Jack’s neck. “I’ll be good. You know I will.”

“I know,” Jack said. He rested his forehead on Kent’s shoulder, feeling stupidly better, the way only Kent could pull off. “You better text me, though. I’ll be so bored. Who am I supposed to hang out with, Mason?”

Kent laughed. “You trying to make  _ me  _ jealous, Zimms?” He pretended to scowl. “Better not come back and find that Mason’s replaced me as your BFF.”

“Never,” Jack said, more sincere than he intended, and Kent laughed again. “Never,” Jack said, and kissed him sweet and slow.

 

 

And then, suddenly, they were 4000 kilometers away from each other and everything was fucked to shit and they weren’t talking and Jack was a dick and Kent was a dick and nothing was okay for either of them.

And Jack would never be allowed to commandeer Kent’s attention again.

Which, honestly, totally sucked.

 

 

Sometime into his first year on the Falconers, Jack walked into the makeup room to get prepped for the World Championships ad and stopped stock-still at the sight of that familiar blond head of hair.

Kent met his eyes in the mirror, smiling wryly. “They didn’t tell you I’d be here?”

“They told me,” Jack said. He sat in the empty chair next to Kent. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Kent said quietly, avoiding his gaze. “You’re having a really fucking good year, huh?” The words came out stilted and forced.

Jack shrugged. “We don’t have to talk,” he offered, because Kent seemed like he might prefer it like that, but the way Kent’s face went even more wooden told him it hadn’t been interpreted that way. Fuck. “I mean -”

“No, you’re right,” Kent said. “We don’t have to talk.”

Jack sighed.

The makeup lady came in then, thankfully. “Jack, I’ll get to you in a moment, I just have to finish Kent’s hair. Can you believe I had to go out and buy extra strength hair gel for him?”

“I definitely believe that,” Jack said, nodding.

“Rude,” Kent said, but he was smiling when Jack looked over.

“Me?” Jack said, wanting to see that smile grow. “Never. You’re the one who made that makeup artist cry that one time, remember?”

Kent shook with suppressed laughter. “I did not,” he said. “That’s a damn lie, Zimmermann.” He looked up at the artist, eyes huge. “He’s full of shit, I promise.”

“I believe you,” she said, and Jack couldn’t miss the way she trailed her fingers over the back of his neck. “You’re very well-behaved, even if your hair isn’t.”

Kent grinned at her. Jack could picture the way he would be rocking on his heels, if only he weren’t sitting down.

“Do you have any gel that isn’t scented?” Jack asked, abruptly not feeling at all like smiling. “Sorry.”

She gave a start. “Oh, um, of course. Let me…” She left.

Kent wasn’t smiling either. “You know, you don’t have the right to do that anymore,” he said quietly, staring forward into the mirror.

Jack shifted in place, because he was in the wrong and he knew it. “I know,” he muttered. “If you want to… I’ll be quiet when she comes back.”

“God,” Kent said. He sighed. “I don’t get you at all.”

“I know,” Jack said.

Kent didn’t flirt with the makeup lady anymore.

Jack was selfishly, guiltily pleased.

 

 

“Just try and convince me that dirty little fuck didn’t intentionally hit Snowy,” said Razzy, movements sharp and angry as he tugged off his gear after the game.

“Chill out, shit happens,” Snowy said, pulling off his own gear.

“Fucking cockstain,” said Thirdy again.

“Piece-a shit,” Freeny agreed.

The pressure built and built in Jack’s chest until - “Don’t talk about him that way,” he said, sharp and sudden.

There was a brief, startled silence. “You think it was an accident, then?” Marty said.

“Parse - Kent would never foul anyone on purpose,” Jack muttered, looking down at his hands.

“Yeah, and you didn’t seem to mind Parson’s hockey in Sochi,” Snowy said to Thirdy, grinning.

Jack shot him a grateful look. He was pretty fucking pissed at Kent himself, annoyed at the goal and the way he’d scored it, and his jaw was still clenched over that smug fucking look Kent had shot him across the ice…

But the way they were talking about Kent made something hot and sharp swell up in him, that same feeling he used to get when girls smiled and touched Kent’s arm when they talked, or close enough.

Kent wasn’t theirs to be pissed at, he supposed.

 

 

“Remind me again what your beef is with Seguin?” Razzy asked Jack, leaning over the plane aisle to talk to him.

“I don’t have beef with Seguin,” said Jack automatically, while in his head he was thinking  _ Slut, slut, goddamn motherfucking slut  _ .

As it turned out, no amount of listening to Shitty rail about double standards, imbalanced gender dynamics, social stigmas, or victim blaming could bury that little voice in Jack’s head whenever one Tyler Seguin came up in conversation.

Razzy snorted. “Yeah, two minutes in the sin bin says you do. What’d he do, hit on your mom?”

“No,” Jack said.

“Hit on your dad?” chimed in Marty from behind Jack, leaning in to join the conversation.

“No,” Jack said, scowling.

“Hm, you don’t have any sisters,” mused Razzy aloud.

“I don’t have a problem with Tyler Seguin,” Jack said, a little too loud, drawing a few looks. He hunched in his seat, feeling himself go red.

Knutty reached back from the seat in front to pat Jack’s head. “Seguin flirts like breathing. I’m sure he didn’t mean it, whatever he did.”

Jack covered his face.

The problem wasn’t Seguin flirting, he thought. The problem was Kent flirting  _ back  _ , open and unsubtle on Twitter where anyone could see and wonder and jump to conclusions. The problem was wondering what exactly they’d gotten up to together in Switzerland during the lockout, knowing for a fact how easy Kent could be when he was far from home in the basement of a billet house with no accountability and nothing to fill his time.

The problem was, and had always been, Jack.

 

 

Kent didn’t even look surprised to see him in the parking garage after the Falcs played the Aces in Vegas. Weary, but not surprised.

“What now, Jack,” he said, walking to his stupidly big SUV while Jack kept pace at his heels.

“She’s too young for you,” Jack said, and he knew it was ridiculous and selfish and just  _ dumb  _ but Kent made him feel ridiculous and selfish and dumb, so.

“Who?” Kent said, raising an eyebrow.

“Ariana Grande,” Jack said, feeling stupid but forging ahead.

Kent gaped at him for a moment, which was both humiliating and relieving. TMZ was full of shit, as usual.

“It’s pronounced Gran-day, actually,” Kent finally said. “Oh, and also, quick second point - what the fuck is wrong with you.”

Jack looked away.

“Where the fuck do you get off?” Kent said, building steam, voice gradually increasing in pitch and decibel until it echoed off the concrete walls. Jack winced. “You’ve had the puck on your tape and said  _ hard pass  _ how many times now? You don’t get to do this anymore, Jack!”

Jack crossed the distance between them at a walk, and Kent walked his approach warily but didn’t break from his diatribe. “Just because you’re not interested doesn’t mean no one else is, okay, so it’s not your – I’m not your arm candy, alright?”

Then Jack was in front of Kent, and Kent tilted his head back against the door of his SUV. His throat worked with his swallow.

“You can’t do this to me anymore, Jack,” he said, softer.

Jack closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against Kent’s, cutting him off.

“Let me,” he said, an exhale, smoothing his thumb over Kent’s high cheekbone.

“Okay,” said Kent, dazed.

 

 

It got a lot better once they got back together and Jack was actually allowed to go all caveman on Kent’s ass.

He was waiting in the car as Kent went inside the restaurant to pick up their order, because avoiding pap shots whenever possible was a shared goal of theirs. Through the window, Kent was flirting with the hostess with his whole body, the way he always had - effortlessly, unconsciously, and way too damn effectively.

Jack pulled out his phone.  _ Might want to rethink this move, kiddo  _ , he texted.

Kent glanced down, feeling in his pocket for his phone. When he pulled it out and read the text, his expression went soft in a way Jack hadn’t seen in years.

He said something to the hostess and came outside, putting the food in the backseat and climbing into the driver’s side. “So we’re back to this, huh?” he said, reaching over and squeezing Jack’s hand, though Jack could tell from his expression that he’d rather be kissing him.

“Babes,” Jack said, stealing Kent’s preferred nickname for him just because Kent’s giant smile whenever he did was so damn cute. “We never left it.”

 


End file.
